


Addiction

by draculard



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Extremely Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Non-Explicit Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Underage Drinking, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 13:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Summer can't remember exactly what happened the first time she tried alcohol.





	Addiction

She’s twelve years old, and it’s the end of summer vacation, and Tammy’s having a sleepover. She finds out about it at the park, playing tennis with her friends — which is really just an excuse to watch the boys skate. And one of her friends is hanging out with one of those boys, an older boy with dyed hair, who says,

“You ever bring vodka to school?”

Her friend giggles and doesn’t answer — because she hasn’t, Summer knows, but she doesn’t want to admit that.

“You put it in an empty water bottle,” the boy says, “and nobody ever knows.”

So that’s what Summer does. It’s the first time she’s heard of anyone doing something like that, even though she knows some kids sneak soda into school since it got banned. But this is entirely different — she can buy soda if she wants to. She can’t buy alcohol. 

Luckily, Beth keeps plenty of it in the freezer.

Summer roots through the fridge in the middle of the afternoon, just before she’s set to bike over to Tammy’s house — when Beth is at work — and finds four little vodka shots hidden beneath the frozen veggies. She pours a plastic bottle of water out and sets it on the counter, cracking open the shots one by one and draining each of them into it. 

She shoves the empties deep into the trash can and covers them up with the rest of the garbage. The water bottle goes into her backpack with her pajamas; heart in her throat, Summer hurries out of the house.

Later that night, when she actually tries the vodka for the first time, she’s appalled at the taste. Her friends all try not to make faces as they sip it — they say they’ve had it before, but she suspects they’re lying.

They say they’re tipsy, but she’s seen tipsy. They launch into a game of truth or dare and she can tell they’re all pretending to be drunk — or maybe they really believe they  _ are _ drunk, after just one sip. 

“Summer,” Tammy says, “truth or dare?”

Summer examines the water bottle, still more than halfway full. She takes another drink and likes the taste better this time.

“Truth,” she says. Tammy hums, maybe thinking about it. The other girls giggle in anticipation.

“Who do you have a crush on?” she asks.

Summer thinks about it. She thinks of every boy she’s seen at school or at the skate park, mulling over each image and waiting for the telltale spark in her stomach that means she likes them. Nothing happens.

She thinks of Beth instead — Beth leaving the liquor store with a brown paper bag full of sample shots, Beth selecting cheap bottles of wine from the grocery store, Beth telling Summer  _ never drink; nobody in this family can drink, it never ends well. _

She thinks of Beth examining the liquor aisle while Summer stood behind her, eyes roaming from her mother’s hair down to her cinched waist down to the curve of her hips. The spark of electricity in her stomach; the quick warm flush of shame.

“Nobody,” Summer says.

It’s Summer who finishes off the bottle.

* * *

She’s twelve years old, and Jerry is desperately trying to win her over again. He thinks she likes Beth more than him — and maybe she does. Something about Jerry repulses her; not just his personality, but his looks, too. She looks at him and sees every nondescript, middle-aged man she’s ever seen. Completely ordinary, completely uninteresting. Pitiable and sad. 

Beth is a little different. She’s an alcoholic and a cunt sometimes, but at least she’s smart. And way better-looking than Jerry. If she wants to, Summer can actually have a conversation with Beth — about school, about her friends, about anything. 

Jerry senses the difference between them. He feels the gap widening, and he can’t seem to make up for the inevitable loss of his daughter. He tries to connect with Morty, but there’s never been anything there between them. So he tries again and again with Summer.

He buys her a new bike — it’s not her style. It has tassels on the handlebars and a Barbie motif on the body; it’s something she would have liked when she was five, which is, incidentally, the last time she remembers actually loving Jerry. 

She tells him it’s not grown-up enough, and so one day he comes home with a box set of Victoria’s Secret perfumes for her, flowery and overpowering, with cheesy ‘sexy’ names on every bottle. Beth chews him out for that; Summer is  _ twelve _ , she reminds him, and she’s not even allowed to wear makeup (though she does; she puts it on in the school bathroom, and if Beth ever notices it when she comes home, she never says a word), and she certainly isn’t allowed to leave the house smelling like a cheap slut.

Summer loves the perfume. She tells Beth she threw it away; in reality, she keeps three of the bottles in a shoebox hidden in the tiles of her ceiling, and one bottle in her locker at school. She puts too much of it on, and the other girls at school are jealous, and she tells Beth that she smells so strongly of  _ Wicked _ because her classmates wouldn’t stop spraying it on the bus.

Jerry notices; he’s not subtle about it. He eyes Summer when she passes him, makes a big deal out of smirking at her knowingly, and she can practically see him filing this knowledge away. It’s never hard to figure out what Jerry’s thinking.

The next week, while Beth is at work and Morty is reluctantly attending an after-school study group, Jerry opens the fridge and casually pulls out two things: a can of beer and a bottle of strawberry daiquiri. He casts a sideway glance at Summer, pushes the bottle down the counter.

“Try it,” he says. Summer studies his face — secretive, weaselly, completely unattractive — and tries to twist the cap off. Jerry takes it from her with a chuckle that he probably thinks  _ isn’t _ totally condescending. “Like this,” he says, and holds the bottle against the edge of the counter. He slams the heel of his palm against it and the cap pops off.

He hands it to her again. Summer takes a careful sip, remembering the overpowering taste of the vodka.

This is different; it’s sweet and syrupy and goes down as smooth as water. Jerry watches her, nods approvingly when she takes a bigger swig, and cracks open his beer.

“Don’t tell Mom,” he says.

He thinks he’s won her over; really, though, it’s the alcohol that she loves.

* * *

She’s twelve years old, and it’s Friday night, and she and Beth are slumped on opposite ends of the couch watching true crime shows on TV. There’s a bottle of wine on the coffee table before them; it’s down to its last dregs. Beth’s always losing her rubber wine-stoppers, and when she can’t find them, she just decides to drink the whole bottle.

_ So it won’t go to waste,  _ she says. 

Summer eyes her, watching Beth get progressively drunker. How does anyone stay so slim while drinking so much? Beth’s blouse hugs her body, showing off a flat stomach that anyone Summer’s age would starve themselves for. That Summer herself has starved for. 

She eyes the curve of her mother’s breasts, the slender, graceful hands, the thick, wavy blonde hair that Summer’s been envious of ever since she was a toddler. 

The aquiline nose, the wine-stained lips.

Heart thumping, Summer looks away. She can feel Beth staring at her now, looking at her the same way Jerry does — curious and contemplative, trying to figure her out. But there’s something different about the way Summer and Beth look at each other, something completely different from the hapless look in Jerry’s eyes.

Maybe it’s a mutual appreciation.

Onscreen, a broken woman in a yellow jumpsuit confesses to police how she smothered her children and murdered her husband. Summer feels the ghost of a touch against her hand and looks down to see Beth’s fingers against hers. 

“Summer,” Beth asks, slurring her words, “do you love me?”

Does Summer love anyone? She isn’t sure. Everything she feels is deadened, numbed. But she  _ appreciates _ Beth, that much she knows. Appreciates the way she walks, the way she dresses, the odd combination of hard muscle and soft skin beneath her clothes.

“I love you, Mom,” says Summer automatically. Beth leans into her, her body loose from drinking so much. Her hand finds the back of Summer’s neck, pulls her closer.

And they kiss, just briefly.

And Beth’s lips taste of wine.


End file.
